Showing posts from December, 2010

Year of the Cliff-Diving Bull

In the final hours I lure my raw feelings and trap them in an amber bottle. I nurse them with tenderness, lull them with the etherizing smoke of a Cuban cigar then watch them bleed through the tip of a pen. I run my fingers through the wavy hair of a year gasping for one last breath. Naked, I stand in the cold on top of a steep rock. The view is awesome as I carry 2010 precariously close to the precipice. You've been my year , I softly whisper, staring at eternity whirling in her sleepy eyes. I kiss her softly and lay her to rest. Then I tiptoe forward to the very edge, raise my arms high above my head and, like a cocked bow releasing its feathered arrow, I jump off the cliff, soul first. I dive toward the blue sea. At long last I'm free. The world around remains enslaved by the folly of mad men and women. The lust for power, greed and tyranny dictate the day to day existence, the very destiny of the exasperated masses. The oppressed were further tormented while those l

When the Sea Turned Blue

A 2,700 years old legend It was a breezeless autumn dawn. Old waves fondled the sand, frothed then withdrew silently offshore. The yawning sun haloed the hills and drew the silhouette of a single mast against the fading darkness. A ship with sagging ropes stood motionless in the bay. Not a bird flew nor a fish swam. Only a man wading ankle deep in the white sea(1) lent life to the desolation while his village lay sleeping behind. 'Adon, son of Hanno, grandson of Yutpan the fisherman, reached the edge of the outcrop, crouched then waited. 'Adon lived in an obscure crossroads on the eastern coast of the middle of the earth(2). His hut was one of twenty on the out-skirts of Amrit and less than a prsha(3) to the north. More villagers worked in this great city as servants for the Amorites(4) or as peasants in the fields than fishermen. Yet Amrit with all of its glory and splendor was overshadowed by the island kingdom of Arvad(5), home of shipwrights, seafarers and mariners who

National Geographic Magazine Arabic Edition

On  a long gone day in the summer of 1976 I flipped the pages of my first National Geographic magazine. Although my English proficiency was rudimentary the superb photography transcended the language barrier. It took me over a month to read and partially understand every article in that issue and by the time I finished my determination to improve my English intensified. Reading, which later became my favorite pastime and pursuit, started then and never ended. Besides my formal academic training, I owe my early education to National Geographic magazine in great part. Along with the National Geographic Channel (NGC) it became my prime source of non-fiction erudition. As a graduate teaching assistant in the States I was fortunate that my designated office contained the department’s archives of the magazine. I spent hours on end reading avariciously about geography, anthropology, history and the physical sciences and staring dreamily at the photographs from distant lands and